


Autumn Leaves and French Toast

by fallenforsupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on a photo, Caring!Dean, Injured!Sam, M/M, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2546063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallenforsupernatural/pseuds/fallenforsupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam loves fall more than any other season. He loved the leaves and the weather and scarves. When he gets injured on a hunt, he leaps at the opportunity to stay and cherish the season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autumn Leaves and French Toast

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off "Autumn" by smallworld-inc. It's a gorgeous photo, link included below!

[_Autumn_](http://smallworld-inc.deviantart.com/art/Autumn-409481975) by smallworld-inc

 

 

Sam understood that hunting was important to Dean, and he adored his brother to no end, but sometimes he really wished that his brother had taken up a different profession. Maybe then they could actually sit down and enjoy Sam’s favorite season.

Autumn always held happy memories for Sam. There was the beginning of school—dorky, but Sam loved it— started as summer drifted into cool air and colorful leaves, and the entire country smelled like pumpkins and raindrops as soon as October hit. He wished that instead of sitting cramped in a car, Sam could sit on a bench in the park and just _breathe_.

Every time they drove through a pile of golden leaves, Sam imagined that he was living in a house with his brother and could rake the leaves in the backyard. Maybe they could have a dog that would jump in the piles and make Dean laugh. It would be that reluctant laugh where Dean hid his mouth and his eyes crinkled up in a smile, almost like a giggle.

Dean’s off-key singing brought Sam back to the present. He didn’t understand why his brother insisted on singing poorly; Dean sang to Sam when he thought he wasn’t listening and he had the prettiest voice Sam ever heard. “Dean! Shut up!”

“Sorry, Sammy, can’t hear you!” Dean cranked the volume up and winked at his brother. Sam groaned and turned away. A puddle of water splashed against the car. “Oh, come on! Stupid fucking puddles.”

Sam loved the puddles and the mud against the car, but he liked his balls where they were, so he kept quiet. “Dean, it’s okay-,”   
“Baby will rust, Sam,” Dean huffed. “I know you don’t understand cars but…”   
Sam tuned him out. Dean had an unhealthy relationship with his car, and Sam knew it, but he couldn’t picture Dean without the Impala. If he wanted to rant for an hour about Baby and how her wheels would rust and she was too pretty for mud, Sam was patient enough to let him. Besides, Dean’s voice was always like a lullaby; within five minutes, Sam was asleep against the window.

Sam woke up a few hours later with the sun already setting. Dean’s fingers were tangled with Sam’s and his thumb was rubbing across his hand. He was humming quietly and didn’t seem to have noticed that Sam was awake. Sam let the warm comfort of Dean wrap around him like a blanket. Sam didn’t know the song, but Dean knew every lyric. Sam wasn’t surprised. He listened to the same cassette tapes over and over.

“I know you’re awake,” Dean murmured. “You can’t fool me.”   
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam muttered. Dean chuckled quietly and squeezed Sam’s hand.

There was a tiny, affectionate smile on Dean’s face. “Baby boy, you can’t get anything past me.”

“S’ true,” Sam admitted. He scooted across the bench seat and kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth. “You can slow down, you know. We can enjoy the scenery, and each other.”   
Dean grinned. “What kind of ‘enjoyment’ are you thinking?”

Sam shoved his shoulder. “Not that kind, jerk. Just relaxing.”

Dean smiled softly at him. “You’re such a girl.”

“Pull the car over and kiss me,” Sam replied. Dean acquiesced and as soon as he faced Sam, his lips were pressed against Dean’s. He made a muffled noise of surprise but then wrapped his arms around Sam and tugged him closer. Sam had never felt this connection with anyone, not even Jess.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned. “Sam.”

“I love you, Dean,” Sam breathed. “Can’t we just stay in one place?”

Dean kissed Sam’s neck. “Sammy, you know we can’t. We’ve got to save people.”   
Sam sighed. “Can’t we take a month off? Or a week?”

“Sam…”  
“Forget it,” Sam huffed. It was irrational to ask and he got the same answer every time, but still… sometimes he’d like it if he could have sex with Dean _not_ fueled by the adrenaline of a hunt. He’d like their lovemaking to be more than just burning of steam.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Dean murmured into Sam’s ear. “Do you need me to relax you?”

Sam’s body pushed into Dean. He was naturally responsive to his brother and every touch made Sam’s body burn. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”   
“So much _talk_ ,” Dean breathed. “Not enough _action_.”

Dean’s hands fumbled with Sam’s belt buckle and Sam tried to stop him. “Dean, wait-,”

Dean drowned Sam’s words in a kiss. “Stop talking.”   
Sam’s complaint was muffled against his lips but Dean’s hands found their way into his jeans and the protests died on his tongue. Sometimes Sam really hated how easily he succumbed to his brother.

The ghost-widow had taken up residence inside her old house in Seattle. It was a tiny little suburb on the outskirts of the city. The street had small, family houses with pumpkins on the porch and leaves on the sidewalks. Bare trees lined the road with branches reaching out to catch the wind.

Mrs. O’Malley’s house was at the end of the block. If Sam didn’t know it was haunted, he would think it’s a very quaint house. The paint was peeling slightly, but it was worn down in a charming way. The house had been lived in. Dean parked the Impala in the driveway and hopped out. Sam took his time, picking up a leaf from her lawn. It was damp and worn on the edges.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean hissed. “It’s not like a dirty leaf is keeping her tied to this house.”

Sam shot his brother a scathing look but trotted after him into the house.  “Keep your voice down.”

Dean opened his mouth but Sam clamped a hand over it. He didn’t want O’Malley to come knocking before they were ready. “It smells like mold,” Dean muttered.

“It’s not like housekeeping drops by every Sunday,” Sam retorted. His brother rolled his eyes.

“Should we split up? That way we can cover more ground,” Dean suggested.

“So eager to get rid of me?” Sam teased.

Dean winked. “I just want the opportunity to watch that gorgeous ass walk away.”

Sam chuckled quietly. “Perv. Keep your ears open and yell if you need me.”

“Please, like _I’ll_ need _you_.”  

Sam sighed long-sufferingly. How did he put up with Dean? He’d completely forgotten how annoying Dean was during his Stanford years.

The floorboards creaked under his feet. Sam winced and glanced around, but no spirit came hurtling towards him. He took smaller steps as he wandered around the house. One of the doors he pushed open revealed an old child’s bedroom. This could be promising. Grief-stricken mothers always make good angry spirits. The door squeaked on the way in and Sam froze, trying to keep himself quiet. Still no spirit appeared and Sam ventured farther into the room. A thick layer of dust covered the toys and a chipped racecar bed. It was disheartening to imagine a little boy here. He dialed Dean’s number.

“Why are you calling me?” Dean whispered.

“I found a kid’s room,” Sam replied. “Did the news reports say anything about a kid?”   
“Yeah, but he-,” Dean cut off mid sentence. “Wow, I can’t believe I missed this.”

“What?” Sam hissed. “What did you miss?”

“She had a foster kid,” Dean replied. “He left when he was six, I didn’t think anything of it. Later, he committed suicide, which is interesting because he was never diagnosed with depression. He had good grades, lots of friends, and excelled in sports.”

“So? Anyone can commit suicide.”  
“No suicide was ever this unexpected,” Dean replied. “Found with his wrists cut when he was 10. No knife was ever found, only a note in his handwriting.”   
“So what? O’Malley forced him to write a note and then killed him?”  
“And then went mad with guilt,” Dean finished. “That’s what’s holding her. Guilt.”

“What do we burn? This whole room is full of toys,” Sam muttered. The corner held a soft teddy bear that looked like it was held a lot.

“Look around,” Dean suggested. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Okay, Dean.” Sam looked around. “I think there’s something weird, I’ll go lo-,”

Suddenly, the ghost of a very angry Mrs. O’Malley appeared in front of him. “Dean!” Sam yelled. “She’s here-,”

He was thrown across the room and crashed into the chair. That was going to hurt tomorrow. Dean’s face appeared in the doorway. “Sam!”

“De’n,” Sam slurred. “Look in the corner.” Dean glanced away and Sam’s vision slipped away.

Cold water trickled down Sam’s face. He blinked his eyes open. “D’n?”  
“Hi, Sammy,” Dean murmured. “You scared me.”   
“Didcha gank her?” Sam asked.

Dean nodded. “Set the teddy on fire and she lit up like campfire.”

“Was a cute bear,” Sam mumbled.

“You’re so out of it,” Dean said amusedly.

Sam shook his head. “Not true.”

Dean dabbed at his face with the washcloth. “How do you feel?”  
“Like I could sleep for a few days,” Sam replied. “I’m so tired, Dean. My body hurts. This bed feels like the most comfortable thing in the world.”   
“Dude, it’s made of rocks,” Dean said.

“See? That’s how tired I am!”

A tiny smile danced on the corner of Dean’s lips. “Well it wouldn’t do any damage to stay here a few days. Does that sound okay?”

That actually sounded like the best idea ever. Maybe he could drag Dean on the walk through the park he’d always wanted to go on. They could see the leaves and maybe people-watch. These injuries might be some of the best injuries Sam had ever suffered. “I guess we could do that,” Sam agreed.

His stomach growled and Dean chuckled. “Guess we should get some food in you. I’ll go buy you one of those girly salads that you like. Stay here and rest. Can I get you anything else?”

Dean was rarely so caring. Sam could really take advantage of this. “Not really.” Damn, wasted opportunity. “Just hurry back.”

“I will. Take care of that head.” Dean winked and twirled his keys on the way out the door. Sam curled tighter into his warm blankets. He could really like it if Dean was there to cuddle him, but his brother had two rules about sex: always get consent, never cuddle afterwards. The second rule applied to everything, really. Dean Winchester was not a cuddler. It took weeks before Dean would even stay in the same bed as Sam when they were done fucking and even now he kept his distance. But now Sam was injured… he could definitely use this to his advantage.

Sam’s eyelids felt heavy. He’d rest his eyes for a few minutes and when Dean got back, they could squish on the bed together and relax. It would be a nice change in pace. He shut his eyes and wiggled into a more comfortable position on the bed. “Just a few minutes.”

 Someone was carding his fingers through Sam’s hair and it felt _awesome_. His pillow was super hard though. He shifted to his stomach and wrapped his arms around the pillow. It let out a low chuckle and Sam blinked his eyes open. Pillows don’t laugh.

Dean’s smiling face hovered above him. “Awake, sleepy head?”

“Hm, you’re back,” Sam said. “How long have you been here? 10 minutes?”

“Try an hour,” Dean replied. “You were out like a light. I figured you needed the rest.”

Sam’s stomach growled. “I need _food_.”

Dean hummed. “I’ll make you a sandwich. I got you peanut butter and bananas, just the way you like. God knows _why_ , because it’s not a good combination.”

Dean scratched the curls at the base of Sam’s neck and the younger Winchester moaned. “Forget food, do that again.”

Dean kissed Sam’s forehead. “I’ll make a quick sandwich and then pet you all night, ‘kay?”

“Yes please,” Sam agreed. “That sounds nice.”

Dean moved out from under him and Sam whined. “I’ve gotta get up to make your sandwich, Sammy,” Dean reminded.

Sam covered his head with the covers. “Hurry.”

“It will be the fastest sandwich I’ve ever made,” Dean promised.

Sam grabbed the covers back over his head. “ _Hurry._ ”

He heard the clink of knifes and the scratch of plates. Dean hummed a tune while he made the sandwich. Sam let his eyes close again.

“Wake up,” Dean whispered. He poked Sam’s side and he twitched. “Good, you’re alive.” He offered the plate to Sam.

“Gimme a sec,” Sam said. He shifted so he could use Dean as his pillow and then put the plate in his lap.

“Do you need anything else?” Dean teased. “A bottle, some comic books?”  
“Fuck you,” Sam retorted. He munched on his sandwich and let Dean’s hands toy with his hair. “Is there anything could on TV?”

Dean reached for the remote and flicked through the channels. “Ooh, western!”  

“Ugh, western,” Sam said.

Dean nudged him. “If I’m gonna deal with your pain in the ass whining, we’re going to watch the western movie. Besides, you’re gonna pass out in 10 minutes anyways.”   
“Did you put sedatives in my food?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“No, I just know that when someone plays with your hair you get very sleepy,” Dean explained.

“Not true,” Sam huffed. Dean raised his eyebrow. “Maybe it’s a little true.”

Dean nuzzled Sam’s neck. “Go to sleep. I’ll pet you until you do.”

Sam relaxed. “If you wanted to, you could sing.”   
Dean snorted. “Yeah right. I’m not singing for you.”

Sam pouted. “Please?”  
“I’m already stroking your hair,” Dean said. “What more do you want?”  
“Your voice.”   
Dean tugged on a strand of Sam’s hair. “Goodnight, Sammy.”

Sam closed his eyes and snuggled into Dean. He was just starting to drift off when he heard, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey. You’ll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

When the sun filtered through the window, Sam’s eyelids decided they wanted to open. The brightness stung and Sam blinked away. He pressed his head into Dean’s neck. Most of their limbs were tangled together under the sheets; Sam didn’t think he could move without sending Dean toppling with him. He wasn’t really upset with the situation. Sam would never dream of complaining about snuggling up to Dean, especially since his brother was so opposed to cuddling normally. Maybe he could enjoy this for just a little bit longer.

He closed his eyes and nuzzled his head into the crook of Dean’s neck. Sam could feel Dean’s heartbeat underneath the warm skin. It was a little rough from stubble with the same spicy scent that always clung to Dean’s skin.

Sam struggled to go back to sleep, but he was fairly content with the way he was now and let his brain just daydream. He dreamt about a tiny little house, maybe in Lawrence or maybe in a city they’d never been to before. Sam wanted somewhere with seasons, though. He only had one complaint against his time in Stanford—there was no fall or winter. It was spring and summer all year long. He needed leaves on the ground in October and maybe even some snow in December.

Yeah… that would be perfect. Maybe Dean would get a job at the garage and live with his passion for cars. Sam might get his law degree or even just work at an animal shelter, then convince Dean that they just _had_ to get one of the dogs, maybe even two. They would have date nights on Friday and walk the dogs in the park. And on Halloween, they would hand out candy to little kids and admire the costumes. Sam could walk around and crunch in the leaves and Dean would complain about shoveling snow in the winter while secretly enjoying it. They would put down the guns and knives and stop seeking out hunts. And then the two of them would die, together when they were old and gray.

“What are you thinking about?” Dean asked sleepily.

Sam jumped. He hadn’t noticed Dean wake up. “You startled me!”

“Sorry, Sammy.” Dean adjusted so Sam’s head could lie on his chest. “What were you thinking about?”  
“Us,” Sam replied. “When we’re old and done with hunting.”   
“If we live that long,” Dean commented.

“Don’t talk like that,” Sam said angrily. “Someday we’re going to settle down. We’re going to get a home and have neighbors and just be in love without worrying for our lives. We have to.”

Dean’s expression said that he knew he said something wrong. “Of course we will, Sammy.”   
“You don’t believe me,” Sam huffed. 

“Sam-,”  
“Why are you so set on staying in this life forever?” Sam asked desperately. “Do you not want to be with me? Would you rather die?”

“Of course I want to be with you! How did this get to here? I’m just being realistic!” Dean exclaimed.

“I just want to be have sex with you and not have it be hurried. I don’t want to celebrate every day we don’t die. I want to have barbeques and a house. I want to go to bed with you at night and know that we’ll wake up with each other tomorrow.” Sam didn’t understand why he was getting so worked up, and from the look on Dean’s face, neither did he.

“Sam,” Dean started. “Sweetheart, I want to give you all of that.”   
“But you don’t want it,” Sam replied glumly. _You’d rather hunt_ went unspoken.

“I want to be with you,” Dean said. “If you wanted to become a cross-dressing stripper and live in the gayest part of San Francisco, I’d find you the prettiest dress out there. And if someday, when we’re older, you want a house and dogs and neighbors and barbeques, I’ll give you all that too.”

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist. “I don’t know why I got so worked up.”   
“I’m glad you did. I need to know what’s going on inside here-,” Dean tapped Sam’s temple, “-so that I can be there and keep you from spazzing out.”   
“I don’t spaz out,” Sam grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean began to stroke Sam’s hair again. They spent a few minutes in silence, simply enjoying each other’s company. “I kinda love you, you know.”   
“I kinda love you too,” Sam replied. “Hey, what would you say to taking a walk in the park?”   
“Are you up to it?” Dean asked. “You got hit pretty hard yesterday.”   
“I’ll be fine,” Sam assured. “The fresh air would do me good. It’d do us both good.”

“Okay. You’re right. Let’s go get some breakfast and then we can take a walk, okay?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

                                                 

Dean bundled Sam into the car with one of the extra blankets in the closet. “I don’t want you catching a cold. You’re already injured and you get cranky when you’re sick.”   
“That is not true!” Sam protested. Dean raised his eyebrow and Sam turned out the window. It was absolutely true. Sam always hated being sick and it made him a little but grumpy. It really amazed Sam how patient Dean was with him.

“I think there’s a little diner down the street. We can get eggs and bacon and waffles and pancakes. Maybe they’ll even have French toast for you.”

“I’ll probably just get eggs,” Sam said. He wrapped the blanket snugly around his shoulders.

“Please, if there’s good French toast on the menu, I’m going to order it _for_ you,” Dean replied. “Every time I made it for you as a kid you gobbled it up.”

“Man, those were the best breakfasts,” Sam said wistfully. “You got the good bread and everything.”

“Only the best for my Sammy,” Dean teased. He whistled low while the Impala purred beneath them. “Listen to her.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Tell me if you need some time alone with it.”   
“ _Her,_ Sammy,” Dean corrected. “My baby is not an ‘it’.”

“Okay, Dean.” Sam rubbed the dash of the car. His brother really loved this thing, It was a little charming, actually, and Sam had to admit that he had a small amount of affection for the car. He’d driven all the way across the country in this car multiple times.

The diner was beautifully old fashioned with a jukebox and red leather seats. “I love it,” Dean declared as soon as he walked in. “There should be more places like this.”   
Sam loved the happy look on Dean’s face. He looked like a little kid, happy and energetic and Sam wanted to hunt down every classic diner in the country and drag Dean to them.

“Hi! Welcome to Abby’s Diner, how can we help you?” The pretty hostess asked.

Dean grinned. “Table for two.”

She grabbed the menus, keeping her eyes on Dean with not so subtle interest. “Sure thing, sugar.”

Dean winked at her and then slid his hand into Sam’s back pocket. “C’mon, babe.”

The hostess’s flirtatious smile dropped and she looked a little bit put out. Sam grinned smugly and wrapped an arm around Dean. “There better be French toast on the menu, honey.”

Dean stuck his tongue out; Sam’s brother was not a fan of being called pet names. He called Sam “sweetheart”, “babe”, or “baby” on occasion, usually when they were both blissed out from sex. When he did it during the day, Dean didn’t even seem to realize that he was saying them.

They did have French toast on the menu, and as much as Sam knew he should order something healthy, Dean ordered for him before Sam could protest. He also ordered Sam orange juice—pulp free of course—which was one of Sam’s favorite treats as a kid. He loved orange juice in the morning instead of tepid tapwater. They just couldn’t afford it, though, because their money was used on motel rooms, ammo, and stale bread and cheese.

Dean tangled their legs together under the table. “How are you feeling? Dizzy? Nauseas? If you get a headache, tell me. I don’t want you to have a concussion.”

Sam loved protective, caring Dean. “I’m just bruised. I don’t think I’ll be up for a fist fight yet but I’m gonna be okay.”

“Alright, good.” Dean glanced at the jukebox. “I’m gonna go pick a song. Maybe something to serenade you with,” He joked.

Sam rolled his eyes and sipped at his orange juice. “You know how much I love your pretty voice.”

Dean flipped him off on the way to the jukebox. He started flipping through the songs with an intense look of concentration; Sam watched him from the booth, his lips absentmindedly wrapped around the straw and sucking at the juice. He was continually mesmerized at how jaw-droppingly beautiful his brother was. He shook his hips to the beat of the song in a way that had every girl—and some of the guys—eyeing Dean like he was a steak. Sam grinned.  Not that he couldn’t appreciate his brother’s gorgeous ass, but Sam preferred how _happy_ Dean looked.

He finally picked a song and glided back to the table, mouthing the lyrics to Sam as he walked. “What do you think, Sammy?”

Sam knew it was Led Zeppelin, he’d heard the song too many times in the car. “Zeppelin isn’t my style.”

Dean beamed. “You recognize Zeppelin, that’s enough for me.”

“How could I not, seeing as you play it every two minutes.”

The older Winchester stole a sip of Sam’s orange juice. “There’s no such thing as too much Zeppelin.”

Sam rolled his eyes and plopped his legs onto Dean’s side of the booth. Dean’s hand started to massage Sam’s calf. “Sammy…”

“Yeah?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “I just love you.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “There’s something up.”

“No, there’s not. I just wonder…” Dean trailed off as their food arrived and all thoughts of the conversation went out the window. Sam sighed and dug into his French toast. It wasn’t quiet as good as Dean’s, but nothing ever was.

After they paid, Sam grabbed the receipt from Dean and tossed it in the trash. He knew the flirty waitress’s number was on the back. Dean nudged him playfully. “Jealous, Sammy?”   
“She’s not your type,” Sam explained.

Dean chuckled. “She was fine. I’ve just got someone else I’d rather see naked.” He winked suggestively and Sam unwillingly smiled.

“I promised you a walk in the park, didn’t I?” Dean asked. He opened Sam’s door. “Still up for that or do you want some rest?”

A flurry of wind blew a streak of leaves in front of the Impala. “Definitely walk in the park.”

“Okay, I saw a good one close to the motel. Sound good?” Dean asked.

Sam relaxed against the seat. “Sounds perfect.” He was more tired than he thought he was, because when he leaned back against the seat his eyes started to close. He would really like a nap, but he’d been napping for the better part of the past few days. It was time to walk around and enjoy his favorite season. He could kick some leaves around and maybe even get hot chocolate and sit on a park bench with Dean.

Dean squeezed Sam’s knee. “Where’s your mind, Sammy?”   
“Just thinking about fall. It’s my favorite-,”   
“-season,” Dean finished. “I’ve known you for 23 years. You think I couldn’t figure out what your favorite season is? It’s almost offensive that you think I don’t know you like the back of my hand.”

“What’s my favorite color?” Sam asked.

“Green.”

“Favorite food?”   
“Caesar salad in the summer followed by ice cream, but not the nonfat kind because you think it’s gross. Steak, even though you won’t admit it, and you could eat turkey and cranberry sauce until you made yourself sick.”   
“Favorite outdoor activity?”   
Dean snorted. “One of those girly things, like walking in the park. And because you want to seem manly, you say you like taking a hike.”

Sam had to admit that Dean knew him pretty well. It didn’t surprise him. They’d grown up side by side for 18 years.

When they arrived at the park, Sam stumbled in haste to get out. It was even prettier than Sam hoped, with leaves on the path and elegant trees stretching their thin, bare limbs.

Sam wanted to take Dean’s hand, but his older brother had a strict “no PDA” policy. His hand flexed in midair and to Sam’s surprise, Dean slid his hand into Sam’s. He kept his gaze firmly ahead, but Sam smirked and kept their hands together.

Sam kicked leaves that fluttered in front of him, and they danced across the path. They were damp with the rain and torn from being stepped on, but Sam loved it. He loved imagining, just for a little bit, that he and Dean were a normal couple with a house and a fence and a dog. Just for a little bit, they weren’t inside a cramped car moving from place to place with an armory stashed in the trunk.

Dean bent over and picked up a leaf with a hole. “Look, Sammy!” Dean held it in front of his eye. “It’s a magnifying glass!”

Sam laughed and kissed his brother’s temple. Maybe they didn’t have the apple pie life now, but Sam had Dean and right now that was all he needed.


End file.
